


Another Fine Kettle of Fish

by karrenia_rune



Category: Oxford Time Travel Universe - Connie Willis
Genre: Character Study, Fishing, Gen, Pre-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-07
Updated: 2015-07-07
Packaged: 2018-04-08 04:25:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4290759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/karrenia_rune/pseuds/karrenia_rune
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the early days of James Dunworthy's study at the University of Oxford his practicum professor asks him to accompany on<br/>a fishing expedition, with mixed results.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Another Fine Kettle of Fish

**Author's Note:**

  * For [drayton](https://archiveofourown.org/users/drayton/gifts).



Disclaimer: the Oxford Time Travel Series is the original creation of Connie Willis as are the  
characters who appear here or are mentioned. I claim only the words of the story.

"Another Fine Kettle of Fish"

The light was long and mellow across the rolling green hills and to James Dunworthy's eye it looked as if some vast hand had poured entire gallon of melted butter across the land.  
He ordinally would like this time of day, on the cusp between the end of one day and the beginning of another. At Oxford at his rooms, he would often open the window and look at the quadrangle, and watch the swallows dip in out of the hedgerows.

Why his practicum professor Mr. Basingame had insisted on his accompanying on a fishing expedition to somewhere in Scotland was something Dunworthy still did not quite understand. 

Ahead of him Basingame was making steading progress along the hills despite his tendency to stop every now and again to jot an idea down on the pocket notebook he carried in the breast pocket of his jacket.  
James hurried his own strides in order to catch up with the taller man, thinking in the back of his mind as he did so, 'That I'd best keep up with him, or in his distracted manner he might be liable to not see the edge of the knoll and take a tumble; and that will never do.' 

Suiting action to thought Dunworthy drew even with Basingame and took a hold of a leather-clad sleeve, gently but firmly steering his professor to a safe distance. 

Basingame nodded and they continued on their way, and either because of Dunworthy's watchful eye or because he was no longer distracted, or perhaps they were now getting closer to their chosen destination; Basingame no longer had any mishaps. The last mishap had ended with James having to tug the older man loose from a muddy sinkhole and nearing losing his own footing on the wet, spongy turf.

The place his professor had chosen to set up camp was a shaded area with a lake shaped like a giant horseshoe. They set up the tent and unpacked the supplies that had been carried in. and without undue complaint, Dunworthy went to fetch kindling for making a campfire.

He stacked the wood in the shape of a tripod and used flint and stone to set it ablaze: a process which took several attempts until he had a decent blaze going. 

Dunworthy crouched down and began to warm his hands.

"Good show," Basingame remarked, shoving his notebook back into his pocket and bending down to tighten the laces on his waders. "Did you remember to bring the cook pot? It's the one with the cooper lion-feet."

"Yes, Sir," replied Dunworthy.

"That's the stuff, and I brought the port. Nothing goes down so well with a bit of crisp brown trout, or a good mackerel as a bottle of Yorkshire Port, ale is the stuff!" "I'm certain of that," Dunworthy replied, not certain that he knew much more about the proper methods of cooking trout, mackerel, or any other kind of fish so he figured it would be the better policy to agree, since the man seemed to be the resident expert on fish.

"Did you know, young man, that brown trout are not native to Scotland at all. They are actually from the Pacific Northwest of America and were first introduced to Scottish Waters in 1888." Basingame smiled and waded out into deeper water so that it now came up to just above his knees.

"What are you doing standing out on the shore, man! How do you expect to catch anything like that? Come on out! The water's fine."

Dunworthy sighed and did as he was asked, repressing a shudder as the cold water hit him. "Sir, I've been to ask you about certain aspects of my practicum, and there just never seemed to be the appropriate time..." he trailed off. "So, now that I've got your ear as it were...."

"What about it?" the older man huffed.

"Well, I know that when the term first began I had expressed that I wanted to study the Middle Ages."

"Yes, Yes, and it's good that you did," Basingame huffed, reeling out his line and testing the bait on the end of it with his thumb and forefinger to make certain it was secure before casting it out and into the water. 

"However, it has only really been since the 1960's that the brown trout has become the main quarry fish for the British angler. So glad that it did not become extinct like cats and so many other species."

"That's all well and good, Sir, but what about my question?"' Dunworthy pressed.

"Out with it, man!" Basingame exclaimed.

"Well, Could I switch from Middle Ages to the 20th century?"

"Hmm," mused Basingame rubbing his chin, "I don't know, that's quite a jump in linear chronology, and it would mean adjusting your coursework. I'd would have to give it some thought. Are you certain you want to do this?"

James Dunworthy sighed. "Truth to tell, Sir. I don't rightly now. And you're right it would be like shifting gears mid-stream, as the old saying goes."

"Mid-stream, very nice," Basingame, sighed and then darted a surprisingly shrewd and considering glance at his pupil, "Are you certain that this is not just a tactic to butter up the old man?"

"No, No, Sir," Dunworthy replied, taken a little back, "It's just that, well, I think the time-honored cliche is that 20th century is what all the cool kids are doing," No sooner were the words out of his mouth James regretted them. He had prepared a much better and well-articulated argument to present to his professor about why he should switch and in the course of their fishing expedition it had all become muddled and jumbled around. 

"Aha!" Basingame exclaimed, feeling a tug and a resistance on his line, he reeled it in and brown trout came up wriggling on the end of his line, examining it for a moment before throwing into a small wire cage he attached to a loop in his belt.

"Sir, it's just that I feel that I would be better suited in the 20th century and that the strictures governing sending historians to particular eras in the past would not have to be as stringent as they presently are."

"The classifications are there for a reason, young man."

"I know, I know, and I'm not asking you to change them or even review them."

"Tell you what, if you have prepared a proposal, submit it to me in writing when we get back to Oxford and I'll look it over. How's that?"

"I say it sounds very fair," Sir," replied Dunworthy.

"Now, then, we should focus on catching a bit more of this good brown trout, if we expect to have a filling meal. It's getting late and I'm famished."


End file.
